Logistics
by Book.Wretched
Summary: Romitri fluff twoshot after Last Sacrifice. Rose and Dimitri have dinner, and she starts thinking about all of the complications with their relationship. Don't worry, there is a happy ending.
1. Chapter 1

It occurred to me just as I was chewing my third mouthful of a particularly delicious spaghetti bolognaise that Dimitri had made for dinner: I do not know how to cook.

I don't know why it's only come to me just now, but for some reason, the thought stops me in my tracks. My next forkful pauses en route, just hanging ridiculously in mid-air before my mouth.

It's not as though this was something that I didn't already know, but honestly, something about this last week has me unsettled. The problem is that everything is normal. It's almost dreamlike, living with Dimitri, being allowed to touch him and smile at him and openly show affection. The truth is, being so happy with no immediate danger or threat on the horizon also means that there are no distractions. If I was in a movie, this would be the part where I'd note that things are quiet.

Too quiet.

Of course, Dimitri notices.

"I don't think it's that good, but I do appreciate the compliment."

I just sit there, thinking. By rights, there should be steam coming out of my ears from the rate at which my internal gears are turning.

"I don't know how to cook."

He looks up from his bowl, mouth already full once more. "Hmmm?"

My fork clanks against the side of my bowl as I set it down.

"I don't know how to cook," I repeat.

"And?"

"And you can."

There's a brief silence, whereby Dimitri takes the opportunity to look completely baffled. I can't really say I blame him.

"Is…that a problem?" The poor man sounds very confused.

I shake my head, more to clear my thoughts than to indicate a response in the negative, but at the sight of his expression, I decide to go with it, and I pull a smile onto my face.

"Not at all."

We carry on eating.

But this knowledge has started me thinking, and now I can't seem to stop. There's always been some pressing matter that I had to keep my attention on, something distracting me from thinking about the logistics of this whole situation. I love Dimitri. He loves me. That's as much as I could afford to think things through before my thoughts were called away to something more urgent. But now, in this silence and peace, I finally have the opportunity to mull everything over.

Dimitri knows how to cook, this shouldn't surprise me. He's accomplished at many things; hotwiring cars, speaking a different language, killing Strigoi…sex. He knows how to do so many things that I don't, but thinking about it draws my attention to the gap between us for the first time. Obviously I've always known about the age gap, but I've never actually thought that it could make a difference.

He knows these things because he's incredible, and he's had the time to learn them. He has lived on his own. He has lived, full stop. And I…haven't, yet.

All my life, I've lived with other people. I grew up at the Academy, I stayed in a dormitory with the other Dhamphirs. When I ran away with Lissa, we shared a room surrounded by other humans. And now I'm at court and I'm living with Dimitri, and I've never had to cook or clean or look after myself in any way.

Come to think of it, Dimitri might even have lived with a woman before. As much as I hate to think of it, he and Tasha have been close for a long time. In spite of his steadfast sense of duty, nobody can deny how attractive he is. He must have had girlfriends in the past, girlfriends closer to his own age with shared experiences that didn't include being taught to kill. He's the only person I've slept with, but I know that he has gathered his experience elsewhere.

It's not that it bothers me, not really, but the thought is still there, weighing heavier than expected.

What was it that he'd said to me, that first year in the Academy?

 _"We're in two very different places. I've been out in the world. I've been on my own. And you…you're just starting out. Your life is about homework and clothes and dances…"_

Of course, I didn't listen. I didn't think it mattered, at the time, and I was hurt that he'd even say that. Now I'm starting to think that the fact that we love each other is not the be all and end all. He wasn't wrong. Other issues do come into play, like the fact that we're both Dhamphirs. I've never really given a crap what people think of me, and I've never been one to play by the rules, but the fact is that our relationship is taboo. And though we may not care, it's bound to put pressure on our relationship from outside. Which means we have to be that much stronger.

I mean, look at my own track record: a string of meaningless flings with guys that I didn't really care about, whatever that was with Mason before…he died. The thought saddens me, and I spare a moment to think about him. I put him through so much. I really do miss him. Absently, I reach my hand behind my head to stroke those first two molnija marks that are all I have left of him.

And then there's Adrian. Poor, poor Adrian. My first proper relationship and I cheated on him. Time and time again, I've berated myself for how things ended. He did not deserve that, and worse, I dragged Dimitri into it. But it just goes to show that, historically, things are not looking good for me. How can I sustain this relationship when things have always ended so badly? What if I end up hurting Dimitri?

Because while we may not be an ordinary couple, we still need to have ordinary aspects to our relationship. I've seen him as so many different things; he's played so many different parts in my life. My teacher, my mentor, my lover, my greatest sorrow. He was basically evil incarnate at one point. I always say that he's a badass Russian god. Is that healthy? He's only human—well, half human—and if I have these ridiculous expectations of him, amazing though he is, he cannot meet all of them.

I'm really starting to freak myself out at this point. What if everything we've worked so hard for ends up hurting both of us? What if I lose him? What happens on that inevitable day that he fails to live up to the god status that I've elevated him to? What if my inexperience drives him away? Is it better just to cut our losses right now? I don't want to do that, but what if it really is better in the long run?

Desperately, I cast my mind back for one normal couple fight, one thing that he does that irritates me, one petty tiff that can provide me with the knowledge that we can be normal. But I come up blank.

Dimitri's voice cuts into my thoughts. "Sorry to drag you back from wherever you are in there, but could I have some help with the dishes, for once?"

I look up at him, startled. "What?"

He lets out an irritated sigh. "Come on, Rose. I can't be the only one who cleans."

A grin spreads across my face.

"Rose," he groans, striding forward and pulling me out of my chair, "I'm not going to let you get out of this. We're in this together, you have to help me."

As he propels me towards the kitchen with the sink full of dishes, I begin to laugh. Unable to help myself, I twist around in his grip and wrap my arms around his waist, squeezing much harder than necessary.

"You aren't going to distract me either," he mutters, but he hugs me back all the same.

"Thank you," I whisper into the familiar leather of his duster.

"What for?"

I grin. "Nothing."

I break our embrace, and turn to the sink, starting to fill it with hot water. A glance over my shoulder shows that Dimitri is still standing where I left him, looking perplexed, as he tries to figure out what the hell just happened.

"I'll wash and you can dry," I say with a smile, and pick up the first plate.

He joins me after a moment, and grabs a dishtowel, muttering in Russian.

The smile does not leave my face the whole time we work, and we fall into a rhythm of sorts. The silence is comfortable this time, apart from the gentle sound of the water and my scrubbing brush on the porcelain.

You see, there's one thing I forgot amidst all of my thinking: I am not in this alone, and together, history has proven that Dimitri and I make a pretty kickass team.

* * *

Author's Note

* * *

 **Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! If you did-or didn't- and wish to tell me why, please leave a review. This fic is also un-Beta'd, so if there are any mistakes, please let me know. It's always wonderful to hear what you have to say, and I promise that I read every review, even if I'm not so great at responding. I do tend to post these oneshots from time to time, so if you enjoy them and you'd like to keep updated, please feel free to follow and favourite.  
**

 **I don't know if it's just a me thing, but I have a tendency to overthink everything. Anything that happens, and especially if it has anything to do with matters of the heart, I will sit there in my own head for hours afterward, analysing it from every conceivable angle until I've convinced myself that the situation was entirely different to how it actually was. Not that I'm anything like Rose, but it is a pretty complicated situation when you think about it. I've basically just unloaded all of my thoughts about Rose and Dimitri's relationship and added a happy ending.**

 **The VA universe and the characters therein are the sole intellectual property of Richelle Mead.**


	2. Chapter 2 (Spiralling)

His tongue is in my mouth, wonderfully warm and insistent. He tastes of Dimitri and dinner and home, invigorating and yet startlingly familiar. But there's an irritating niggling at the back of my mind, from my thoughts earlier this evening. The tiny blockade holds me back from getting sucked into the moment, and I direct a stream of irritation towards it.

 _Why now?! Can you not?_

But it's like addressing it has pulled the string, and now I have a fully inflated, boat-sized thought crammed uncomfortably into my skull. In an attempt to absorb myself once more with the man I love, I reach around and run my fingers through his hair. Soft as silk, it runs oh-so-satisfyingly through my fingers.

 _I wonder if they ever did the same thing?_

The question slams into me like a sledgehammer, unbidden and definitely unwelcome. It effectively kills the mood on my side. I still.

"What?" Dimitri murmurs, his voice soft and husky as he pulls back. His warm breath tickles my face.

I shake my head and pull on a smile. "Nothing."

His lips crush back onto mine with a gasp that fills my mouth with his hot breath.

I try to shake off my weird mood, but it digs its claws in, choking me.

 _How many others has he kissed like this?_

A wave of revulsions crashes over me, and I instinctively wrench myself away.

"Rose?" Dimitri regards me from the other side of the bed; his face shows hurt and confusion. I just look at him and try to quell my sudden irrational anger.

He reaches out to touch me, but I stand up and take a step back.

"What's wrong? Did I do something?"

I can only shake my head.

"Talk to me. Please."

My hand raises almost of its own accord, trying in vain to wipe away my thoughts through my closed eyelids. The dark helps a little, and the pressure that's just a tad shy of pain. Inky splotches pulse before me, but when I remove my hand and open my eyes a moment later, the scene remains the same.

"I just…" I trail off, not really knowing what I am, but suddenly realising that I need air. "I'm going to go for a walk." I turn to the door and try to ignore the quiet worry in his voice when he speaks.

"Would you like me to come with you?"

"No," I grab my jacket. "Thank you."

And then the door is between us and I can breathe again. Frustrated, confused and angry, I stride away, not knowing where I'm headed. The cold morning air on my face helps to calm me; the sun is high in the brilliant blue above me and the court is about as empty as it gets. After all, it is the middle of the night.

Despite the sunlight, the day is chilly, and I shove my hands deep into my pockets, taking comfort in the feeling reminiscent of an embrace. His embrace. And I'm not the only one who knows what it's like.

 _No._

I shake my head, trying to dislodge these thoughts, but only succeeding in whipping my face with the end of my ponytail, leaving the skin on my cheeks stinging. I'm being stupid. I know I'm being stupid. Logically, I can reason that I already knew he had more experience than me, and I went for him anyway. Intellectually, I know that it doesn't really matter, because I love him and he loves me. And I have no idea why my mind has chosen this moment to stage a freak out of epic proportions.

Unfortunately for me, my emotions do not respond to reason.

And alarmingly—ridiculously—I feel my face crumple.

 _What?_

My hand flies out of the warm confines of my pocket and covers my mouth. I choke on a sob.

And there, in the middle of an empty quadrangle in the sunlight, the pain hits me and I break down. I'm dimly aware of the dull pain as my knees hit the bricks, and how cold they are on the palms of my hands, but nothing compares to this knot of emotion that seems to have lodged itself firmly behind my ribs. Tears and snot leak silently down my face, my mouth open in a harsh and ugly expression of agony.

Their hands on him, his hands on them. Words whispered in a moment of tenderness that I was not a part of. Half formed images of faceless women in various poses. Did he love them? Did he laugh with them? Did he drape his duster over her shoulders when she was cold?

My anger boils up through the pain, irrational and directionless. I can't blame him. I can't blame them. I can't blame myself. So I throw it out into the universe, a ripping, destructive force as another sob escapes me. It transforms into a quiet scream halfway. If it weren't for my grief, I'd wonder how I'm possibly capable of producing a sound like that.

Seven years have never seemed so vast. I feel each one like a stinging cut. Disillusionment, disappointment, revulsion. And the worst part is, I'm trapped between two equally painful prospects; to walk away and lose him, or to feel this pain and somehow hope I can move through it.

 _Why does it have to be so complicated?_ I want to yell. _Why is everything so difficult? What do I do now?_

But no answers are forthcoming, and I know in my heart that I will continue, whatever happens.

It's as if this realisation extinguishes the flames of my misery, or maybe I'm just suddenly too exhausted to feel it. My mind is dull, heavy, and I stand mechanically and dust off my hands. My fingers are numb. I shove them in my pockets. My face is wet, so I lift my shoulders to wipe each eye dry. And slowly, unwillingly, my feet tread the path back to our apartment.

Much too soon, I'm outside, and I remember with a disconnected lurch that in my hurry to leave, I hadn't thought to grab my keys. At a loss, I just stand there like an idiot, hovering outside. But of course, I don't have to wait that long; he must have heard my approach. There's a scuffling sound, a click, and then I'm in front of him.

His expression is guarded, but I can see the worry in his brow. Wordlessly, I move past him, noting with gratitude that he goes out of his way not to touch me.

Numb, angry, confused, ashamed, I sit on the couch. The tension is palpable. It's the most awkward I have ever felt around him. He takes a seat on the chair across from me.

"So," he begins, and I can hear how hard he's trying to keep his tone even. "You want to tell me what happened?"

* * *

Author's Note

* * *

 **Thank you for reading! I didn't actually intend to make this more than a oneshot, but um, well. These things happen I guess. I have no idea what happens next. If you liked it, or didn't because Rose is pretty out of character and I'm basically inflicting my own personal life upon her, please do let me know by leaving a review. There is such a thing as too much drama. If this fic is not it, then I believe I'm very close. I have no clue if there will be more, but if you'd like to stick around, feel free to follow and favourite. Also if you find any mistakes I apologise, as this is unBeta'd.  
**

 **All credit for the VA universe and the characters therein goes to Richelle Mead.**


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